


Despite You Here With Me

by TheDragon



Series: Within the Darkness [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12584976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon
Summary: “Do you want to talk about it?” Arthur asks.“No, not really,” Merlin says, looking away from Arthur to stare at the floor at his feet. “‘S just a nightmare. Nothing important.”“It’s important to me,” Arthur whispers. “You’reimportant to me,” he adds after another second, and ends up wincing at the sound of Merlin’s broken laughter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the "Darkness" prompt on my Merlin Fic-Tac-Toe card. I'm running a bit behind schedule in my time zone, but pffft. It's still Halloween somewhere in the world, right?
> 
> Speaking of which, Happy Halloween!

Arthur is startled out of his sleep as something moves on the bed. His hand goes for the knife he keeps under his pillow before his mind fully comprehends what’s happening.

It’s only after a few seconds that the sobs and heavy breathing reach his ears, and he instantly drops the knife back onto the mattress.

“Merlin?” he asks, reaching out to where Merlin is lying on the bed next to him. Merlin whimpers when Arthur’s hand lands on his shoulder, and Arthur moves away as if he’d been burned.

In a way, he has. His heart aches something terrible when he sees Merlin suffering and he’s unable to help (and guilt is still devouring him whole, because the only reason Merlin was forced to suffer for so long was because Arthur didn’t bother looking for him when he went missing).

Nowadays, Merlin tends to shy away from the touch of other people, even those he knows (Arthur can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he had in any way come into contact with Merlin). Nowadays, Merlin is reluctant to talk to anyone, to eat, to sleep, to even leave Arthur’s chambers during the day.

Merlin hasn’t forgiven him, he knows that. Arthur hasn’t forgiven himself either, and he doesn’t think he ever will. He will never, however, stop trying to make up for abandoning Merlin and leaving him at the hands of those monsters.

Some small, distant part of him wishes that Merlin had told his captors some important secret, _any_ secret, so that Arthur wouldn’t have to feel as bad about having withheld help, since Merlin would have, in a way, betrayed him too. He always shoves that part away the moment it makes itself known. Even if Merlin had told them anything (and he’d guaranteed that he hadn’t; nothing of importance, at least), all of his captors were dead, mainly thanks to Arthur.

Besides, it would have been his fault for leaving Merlin with them for so long in the first place.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks again, arms aching with just how much he wishes to pull Merlin close and chase away his nightmares. Merlin still doesn’t say anything, but in the limited light, Arthur can make out how he reaches up to wipe the tears away from his face.

When Merlin sits up abruptly and moves to get out of the bed, Arthur hurriedly scrambles out after him, ready to be at Merlin’s every beck and call. Merlin, however, doesn’t seem to want his help in any way or form.

“Go back to sleep, Arthur,” Merlin tells him, voice hoarse and broken. He’s standing facing away from Arthur, staring at the window and what’s beyond it. They never close the curtains anymore because Merlin hates the complete darkness that spreads through the room.

Arthur wants to obey to him, if only because it will make Merlin feel better, but he doesn’t since it will feel like abandoning Merlin all over again, and that’s the last thing he wants.

Instead, Arthur goes over to the other side of the bed and stands in front of Merlin. Not too close, so that Merlin doesn’t feel caged in, and definitely not right in front of the window, but close enough for Merlin to see that he’s offering support, and that Merlin is welcome to take it should he so wish.

“I told you to go back to sleep,” Merlin says, frowning down at him and making Arthur feel guilty all over again. Still, it sounds so much like something Merlin would have said Before that Arthur almost smiles despite the severity of the situation.

“I don’t think I can,” Arthur says truthfully; sleep would never come if he knew that Merlin was alone and scared. He hesitates for a second before saying the next words, but in the end, he lets them flow from his mouth. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

Merlin quickly shakes his head, breath stuttering. His eyes take on a wide, panicked look and his fingers tightly grip the fabric of his breeches.

“No, not really,” he says, looking away from Arthur to stare at the floor at his feet. “‘S just a nightmare. Nothing important.”

“It’s important to me,” Arthur whispers. “ _You’re_ important to me,” he adds after another second, and ends up wincing at the sound of Merlin’s broken laughter.

“Right,” Merlin says. He walks forward, sidesteps Arthur, and heads straight for the door. Arthur looks at him, frowning and itching to grab Merlin and pull him back.

“Where are you going?” he asks instead, clenching his fists at his side to that he doesn’t try to do anything stupid ~~like touch Merlin~~ again.

“For a walk,” Merlin says, voice turning hard. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

And wow, that hurts, but at the same time, he knows that Merlin is completely right. It’s _not_ his business. It’s Merlin’s and _only_ Merlin’s, because their relationship is just about non-existent at this point.

Still, for the first time in a long time, Arthur is at a loss for words.

“Just…” he trails off, unsure of what he wants to say. “Be careful. It’s dangerous at this time of night.”

Merlin snorts and opens the door.

“Stop pretending you care,” he whispers, and then he’s gone before Arthur can even think to reply.

Arthur doesn’t get any sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

They still haven’t talked about the magic. Merlin knows, he just  _ knows _ that Arthur hates him for it, even though he hasn’t said anything of the sort yet.

Arthur hasn’t been saying much of anything at all to him these past few days. The only words leaving his lips are apologies and inquiries as to how he’s doing and if he needs any help.

Merlin should move out of Arthur’s chambers, but he really doesn’t want to, selfishly opting to keep Arthur close despite the remains of their relationship crumbling down around them. He’s not going to move out until Arthur tells him to, because despite the fact that Arthur hates him now, Merlin hasn’t managed to stop loving him.

Merlin’s late-night walk through the castle proves to be an ideal time to lose himself in his thoughts. He wonders whether he should bring up his magic during the next conversation he has with Arthur. Should he try to explain to Arthur that he’s still the same person, that everything he’s ever done was with Arthur’s best interests in mind?

That the only way he managed to stay sane throughout his captivity was because of the thought of Arthur coming for him, taking him away from that place? How the thought of being back in Arthur’s arms was the only thing that kept him going?

The shivers that start running down his spine have nothing to do with the cold night air.

Merlin doesn’t remember it ever being this windy inside the citadel. He stops and looks around, surprised to see that he’s unwittingly made his way up to the ramparts. Which part of the ramparts, though, he’s not sure. He seems to have wandered over to the older part of the castle, the part that’s not very much in use these days.

With a sigh, Merlin walks over to the parapet and leans against it.

Despite the temperature, it’s a nice night. The moon is out, bathing the Lower Town in a cold light. It’s too late for anyone but the guards to be out and about; the isolation makes it peaceful. Merlin feels like he can finally let go of his worries and breathe, if only for a few minutes.

As he hears footsteps behind him, he realises that a bit of peace and quiet is too much to ask for.

Merlin almost doesn’t turn around, expecting the person behind him to be Arthur, but as the footsteps come closer, heavier,  _ faster _ , he realises that no, this can’t be Arthur, this must be someone else.

Someone’s who’s evidently been spying on him, who’s followed him all the way from Arthur’s chambers, and Merlin somehow hadn’t noticed.

He instantly whirls around and raises his hands to protect himself.

It’s Agravaine. Agravaine’s the person following him, and he’s holding a knife; his arm stretched out at his side and he’s prepared to strike.

“Stay away,” Merlin warns, trying and failing to keep his voice from trembling as much as his hands.

“Now, Merlin,” Agravaine says, voice oily and falsely soothing, and if not for the fact that there’s nothing behind him besides a steep fall to his death, Merlin would have taken a step back. Maybe even two.

As it is, he’s got nowhere to run.

“Stay back,” Merlin warns again, then flinches as Agravaine raises his hand, seeing someone else. Someone who hit him time and time again for his own perverse pleasure. He sees himself hanging from the ceiling by the chains around his wrists, legs unable to hold him up anymore, and blood dripping into his eye from the cut on his scalp.

Merlin sees all this, and his magic draws away from him, because they always beat him more when he tries to resist, so why try?

He subconsciously takes half a step back and crashes right into the parapet, the upper part of his body precariously tilting over the side.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. You’re in the way, you see, of Morgana taking over. I’ve been told to remove you,” Agravaine says, moving ever closer. Merlin’s gaze darts to the knife as it glistens in the moonlight. “Forcibly,” Agravaine adds, smirk widening, and he looks so much like  _ them _ that Merlin falls to his knees, back pressed up against the parapet, and curls in on himself the best he can.

Some distant part of his mind is screaming at him, telling him to get up, to fend off his attacker, to use his magic and protect himself, and that voice sounds a lot like Arthur.

But Arthur would never,  _ ever _ tell him to use magic. Arthur hates him for his magic. Arthur would have left him to be tortured.

Merlin doesn’t move,  _ can’t _ move, as Agravaine takes another step toward him. Merlin’s hands drop to land on his knees, to wrap around them, and he shuts his eyes as though that will make this whole thing disappear.

There’s that voice again, screaming at him to do something,  _ anything _ , or else he’s going to die here, and then there will be no one left to protect Arthur and Camelot from magical attacks, but Merlin can’t seem to do anything but sit there, all curled up and scared and holding back whimpers of fear.

“Merlin?” someone suddenly asks, and that’s not Agravaine’s voice at all. There’s someone kneeling in front of him when he finally forces his eyes open, and there’s a pair of hands hovering around him helplessly.

Agravaine is nowhere to be seen.

“Merlin?” Gwaine asks again. “Are you alright?” He sounds worried, Merlin realises, and he distantly wonders how many times Gwaine had to repeat his name before he finally managed to get a reaction out of him.

“No,” Merlin whispers, avoiding looking into Gwaine’s concerned eyes. “No, I don’t think I am.”


End file.
